YES CHAPTER FIVE!!!!! vote and comment, love ya<3
You did mind, in fact - but you didn't have the courage to reject him. The whole point of going to the library (in pyjamas, no less) was to escape the tension. George, however, didn't seem to pick up on the hint you so desperately wished he did.
And so here you were, walking side by side with him in utter silence. The street was bustling, as you assumed it would be, seeing as it was such a big city. People rushed past you, eager to get along with their day.
Despite not knowing where the library was, you trailed a step behind George so he could lead you there. It was much easier that way, anyway, than admitting the only reason you claimed to be going to the library was that so you didn't have to be with him. If you did... well, he'd likely not speak with you for a good amount of time. Though you wouldn't really mind if he didn't, it was better to stay acquaintances -- at least without the awkward conversations -- with someone you worked with.
George stopped suddenly, and you nearly bumped into him. "You are aware we're in the complete opposite direction of where we were supposed to go, right?"
You blinked, coming to the conclusion that he probably figured out you were completely lost by now. "Um, no." You looked up from the ground to make eye contact. "I didn't really- I mean, I wasn't paying attention."
He raised a brow and shoved his hands in his pockets. "That's all?"
"Mhm, yep." You nodded. "That's all."
You were glad George turned, brushing off the little interaction you had. He definitely knew that you had lied to him, but you were grateful that he saved from (even more) embarrassment.
The walk wasn't long after that, a few minutes at most.
You arrived at the library (at least that's what you thought, seeing as you had never seen it before). There was a second floor, probably, seeing as there were giant glass panes that made the taller side of the buildings. It was a dark grey, but you didn't really mind. From the way you came, it read The British Archives, in big, bold letters.
Expecting to go through the front -- if it was the front, you weren't sure -- you were surprised George led you through the side. From that way, at least, you could see the bright trees and blue sky. Benches lined up on the side of the wall, but only a few before there eventually was no more.
You stood a moment, staring in awe. It wasn't everyday you could find such dull building sat in the middle of a park, surround by awfully vivid colours.
George tugged on your arm, rolling his eyes and motioning for you to follow him. You did, reluctantly, and when you finally made it inside, you were even more awestruck. It felt like something out of a book -- something only dreamers would wish to be in the presence of.
Your feet dragged across the tiled flooring, making a click clack sound. It was kind of funny, how everyone who walked in the corridor made the sound even louder, but chose to ignore it.
Paintings lined the side of the hall, each framed and hidden behind glass. You didn't understand why they did that. The only people who worried about art were the one who painted it, seeing as everyone else's mind was occupied by The Problem, even though practically fifty years past since it started.
You ripped your gaze from the wall, tilting your head when George stopped walking. You hadn't noticed the librarian, or so you assumed her to be, but he was talking with her. The woman could have been in her mid-forties, maybe, with her blond hair stuck to her head in a tight bun. You tuned out of the conversation, though you weren't listening in the first place.
She was wearing a navy blue jumper, and grey pants that looked like something you'd wear at an important meeting. A pearl necklace hung around her neck, and every once in a while she'd move her and to fiddle with it.
Done with observing her, you turned to the library. From where you were standing, you could only just see past the bookshelves -- and was surprised when you saw an open space. There was a small concrete half-wall, matching the ceiling, in the shape of a square (or some other shape, you couldn't really tell). You could see just the top of something in the middle of it, maybe a desk, or more shelves.
All around it, tables lined up, with comfortable black spiny chairs set next to it.
Bored and just wanting to read, you rocked on your heels. George's eyes flickered to you every time you moved even the slightest bit, and he hurried to finish what he was saying. Any new arrivals for research? you thought he said, but you weren't listening and couldn't be sure.
The woman shook her head, then went along with whatever it was she was doing before the two of you arrived.
George only nodded and continued on, walking towards the table area that you had seen before. You followed aimlessly, dragging your feet. There was absolutely no reason for you to be here, and right now, what you wanted most was to be alone.
He pointed to the table closest and dropped his unbuttoned flannel on the back of a chair. "I'll be right back, just have to get a few newspapers, and stuff of the sort. It's for a case that Lockwood and I are doing now, but you don't have tot help if you don't want to." George turned, pursing his lips. "It'll take a while for you to get used to everything," he added.
You watched him walk away. Once he was out of sight, you averted your eyes, walking around the table to take seat awkwardly in a chair. You crossed your legs, cracking your knuckles as you waited for him to get what he needs.
It was quiet, here in the library. It was nice. There weren't many people around, seeing as it was almost lunch time and they had probably left for a munch.
You scanned around the room, moving your head along with your gaze, and only stopping when you saw a small group of people. They were -- most likely -- the only other people with you.
One, a blond boy with a muscly build who looked at least five years older then you. The second a shorter boy with lanky arms (and he couldn't be any older than you, probably your age). You couldn't tell whether or not he had blond or brown hair -- maybe mix of both; and a woman with dark skin and braided hair to match.
Eventually (even though, realistically, it hadn't been that long) George came back with two arms full of books. He saw where your gaze lingered and scoffed, dropping his books and sitting down.
"The tall one," he pointed to the muscly one, "is Quill Kipps, and the rest are his crew. Think they're better then everyone." He glared at their backs. "It's infuriating."
You kept your gaze on them for a moment longer, only looking back at George when the lanky boy caught your eye.
George glanced up from his pile of newspaper clippings and textbooks, furrowing his brows at your empty hands, and the clear table (apart from his things). "Where's you stuff? I thought you were doing research, too."
You shrugged and chewed on your lip. "I've never actually been here before, so I don't know where anything is." You made a face, playing with the hem of your shirt under the table. "Plus, it slipped my mind that this isn't really a library, just archives."
George seemed surprised. "So you wanted to read a book book."
Though it doesn't sound like a question, he still waits for your confirmation, and so you nod. Standing up, he motioned for you to follow him, scooping what he had previously brought right back into his arms. You snatched his flannel, still on the back of the chair, and draped it over your shoulder.
He started to walk, and so you followed him. "Not most people know this, but at the back of the library there's a section for real books."
"Not the boring kind you're forced to read for research?" You question, but it's more of a tease.
George mocked offence, placing the back of his hand to his forehead and pretending to faint. When he finished being dramatic, he smiled a bit. "I, surprisingly, like reading the archives, thank you very much. It's actually very interesting."
"Yeah," you said, nodding, "about as interesting as whatever stick you've got up your arse."
He rolled his eyes, turning away from you to push open a set of glass doors. His books smushed against it, and you couldn't help but hold in a laugh. The library, which wasn't the same boring place it was where the archives were. It had the old book smell, unlike where you were merely moments before. Out there, it smelt of pine and very strong perfume.
You continued to follow George, despite how much you wanted to linger for a while. You dragged your fingers along the dusty shelves around to a circular table near the back.
"Why's it so dirty?" You asked, dusting off your hands on your pyjama pants.
"Not a lot of people spend their free time reading the good books, apparently." He shrugged. "Sad, when you think about it. But I don't mind being the only one here.
Your lips tipped upwards -- almost a smile, but not quite. You pulled his shirt from off your shoulder and left it on the back of the new chair he was sitting on, then helped him set his things down. "Well," you said, and went around the table back to the bookshelves, "now you've got company."
With your back still turned away from George, you missed seeing his face heat up. It wasn't a crush -- not yet, anyway, but there wasn't a lot of time before he could claim it was.
You scoured through the mystery/thriller section, turning your head sideways to read each title. There wasn't much that stuck out to you, until you reached the end of the row. Murder on the Orient Express, one of your favourites. It wouldn't mind a re-read, right?
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
It hadn't been very long since you sat down, a bit less than two hours, and you had already gotten halfway through the book. Oh, how you loved it. You'd definitely need to buy a copy, if you could find one in a bookstore -- which wasn't very likely, seeing as it had been published nearly forty years ago.
George sighed and stood up, and your eyes gradually wandered from the words to him.
"It's around lunch, now, and I'm hungry. Would you like to grab something to eat with me?" He paused, considering the fact that you might not want to go with him. Shrugging it off, he continued. "There's a coffee shop down the block. Arif's shop, if you remember him."
In fact, you did remember him (the doughnut boy), and so you nodded. You stood, too, but not before checking the page you were on. One hundred twenty-three. Just as you were about to put it back on the shelf, your stomach gurgled. You bit your lip, hearing George stifle a laugh -- no matter how hard he tried to quiet it.
You rolled your eyes. "I guess I'm hungry too."
You waited for him to put his flannel on, and when he did you scooped up a few of the newspapers and archives he had been reading.
This time, you were the one to open the doors, propping it open with your foot and letting George walk through first.
"What a gentleman," he joked, and you grinned.
Walking out of the library, you thought to yourself. You definitely wanted to go back; but to be in the presence of the building or finish reading your book, you didn't know. One thing was for certain, though, you would most definitely be bugging George to come again.
In no time, you made it to where you had been before. George excused himself, taking everything that you had held for him into his arms and saying he'd be back soon, just needed to put them away. You hummed, urging him to go quickly so you wouldn't starve to death. (The last part had been a bit, and George laughed lowly. It was a stupid jest, and you had no idea why he found it funny.)
The first thing you noticed upon looking away from him was the same group of people you had seen before. Kipps was one of their names, you thought, but couldn't put a face to it. They were sat together where you had been before, giggling, but talking quietly so that you couldn't hear what they were muttering about.
You ignored it, sitting on the table next to theirs. You swung your legs while waiting, dangling your arms as well.
Finally, George emerged from behind all the shelves, and you were just about to stand when you heard someone whistle. The two of you turned to look at whoever it was, confused.
His eyebrows were raised and a smirk adorned his lips. "Finally got yourself a partner, have you, Karim?"
"Shut up, Kipps," he's quick to answer, and before you could comprehend what was happening he had already grabbed your hand and dragged you away.
You almost tripped over your feet, rushing though the halls speedily to get outside. George didn't seem to mind that you had almost toppled to the ground, hauling you forwards and practically speed walking until you were at the doors.
Promptly, you were outside in the cool breeze, on the side of the building where you had entered. You squinted at the sudden brightness, dropping George's hand to create a shadow over your eyes.
You cleared your throat. "How far of a walk is it?"
George shrugged, scanning the street for the crosswalk. "Not very far, five minutes at most." With his head, he motioned for you to follow him, and so you do -- dragging your feet on the ground.
Time flew by, and when you lifted your gaze from the ground you were already in front of the building. You looked through the glass door, curious as to what it would look like. It reminded you of the café at the train station, with the blue haired girl whose name you didn't receive.
The chairs (from what you could see) were not an orange like they had been over there, instead wooden. You never really liked sitting on wood. Your lower back would always be sore the next day.
To your surprise, when George stepped forwards and opened the door for you, you got a better view. And, in fact, there wasn't only wooden chairs, but also booths tucked beside the walls or between corners. You went in quickly, and George followed after you, both of your eyes roaming around the almost empty room.
The chatter was quiet, and you almost heard voices you recognized. You were too far away to tell, though, and so you merely ignored it, continuing to scan around the room.
There wasn't much to note other than the painting hung on the wall, a similar style to whaat had been in the archives. It was simple -- a snowy mountain and stormy sky near the top, with evergreen trees littering the bottom of the canvas. You had seen many people attempt painting the same, but not many could capture the beauty of nature as if it were a photograph. This one, though, was something dreamers often dreamt of.
George was something dreamers dreamt of often, too; and you could only hope that you wouldn't.
"Come on," he said, and urged you in.
You didn't mind the quiet, in fact, you felt yourself welcoming its presence in. You liked it here. It reminded you of something out of heaven.
You had barely noticed that you were trailing after George until you bumped into his back, recoiling away the second you felt the fabric of his shirt on your face. "Sorry, sorry," you said, and stepped away.
He only shrugged, motioning to a menu behind the counter. Funny how you hadn't noticed it before. "Are you wanting anything?"
"Oh, um." You took a moment to squint at the menu, just barely reading the small print. "A cocoa, if that's all right." Your brows furrowed, and you patted down your arm while looking for your bag. "I would have offered to pay, but ass it seems, I've forgotten my satchel. I have a few pounds back at the house, I think, so I can pay you back when we arrive."
"It's alright," George replied. "I was going to pay for it anyway. Why don't you find us a seat?"
"Oh, yes, of course."
You turned, but not before you saw a boy (presumably Arif) walk from out an employee's only door, wiping down his apron. He looked oddly alike to George, the only difference was the face shape - and Arif's eyes seemed to be hazel in lieu of a deep brown.
There were many open seats, you took note, and there was really only one couple that occupied the otherwise empty café. Upon further inspection, you realized that it wasn't a couple, instead Lockwood and Lucy, and the familiar voices you had heard earlier belonged to them.
You skipped towards them, sat in a little back corner, tucked away from the world. Lucy's eyes snapped up from her almost finished drink, grinning when you slid in next to her.
Lockwood gave you a small smile as well, and then continued on with whatever thoughts he had before.
The few minutes it took for George to get back with your drinks were silent. Other than the bustling noises of outside, there was nothing to be heard. You didn't speak, and neither did anyone else; but you didn't mind at all. In fact, the silence was comforting, rather than tense, and you found yourself longing for more moments like this in the future.
A future shared with Lucy, Lockwood and George seemed like paradise. Pancakes every morning for breakfast; going to The British Archives to read and research; walks every evening as the sun sets and people hurry home.
Home, perhaps, was you really longed for. A sense of calm to wash over you like rolling waves to aa sea shore. It didn't matter where or when -- maybe all that did was who you were with. Home, perhaps, would be them.
IMPORTANT MESSAGE IN THE COMMENTS // 3137 words